


The Crossroads

by disenchantedphoenix



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15x20 does not exist, Alternate Ending, F/M, Fix-It, Focused on characters finally being happy and toothaching fluff, M/M, anyone can write a better ending to supernatural than the supernatural writers can so here is mine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:42:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27661535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disenchantedphoenix/pseuds/disenchantedphoenix
Summary: A post 15x19 fic that ignores the series finale with pleasure.A few years have passed since Jack restored the world and gave the Winchesters their lives back. Dean and Castiel own a bar and spend their days together. Sam is happily married with a family. This is a snapshot of their lives together. Though the past may still haunt them in some ways, they lean on each other and get through it. They are finally at peace, and they are at peace in life, not death.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 56





	The Crossroads

**Author's Note:**

> Wow. So here's the first Supernatural fanfic I've ever written. In 2020.  
> Like many, I never watched passed season 7ish and hadn't thought about the show in years. And then... recent events happened. They deserved so much better, so here's my take on Sam, Dean and Castiel finally finding their happiness.  
> Like I said, I missed a good 7 (at least) seasons of canon, so if something doesn't track, it's because I was too lazy to look it up. For intance, I mention Crowley in passing, whom I'm fairly certain died permanantly. Oh well. Cope, I guess.

Dean Winchester was not a morning person. 

Never had been. Not as a kid, and definitely not during those long years of hunting the darkness around every corner. 

But he would do early mornings for Castiel. 

He stretched, one hand flung out against the side table to shut off the blaring alarm. Next to him, the bed was empty, sheets neatly turned down. Or as neatly as they could have been with Dean’s sleepy thrashing. Cas liked to tell him that’s where his fight went—no more monsters to fight in the waking hours, so he fought them in his dreams. 

But he barely ever dreamt of monsters anymore. Mostly, he didn’t dream at all. He just rested. 

Downstairs, he could smell strong coffee brewing. He heaved himself out of bed, rubbing at his eyes to clear away the sleep, and pulled on the closest pair of sweatpants. Their laundry was heaped in a crumpled pile on the floor because even Cas, the neat freak that he was around the place, couldn’t be bothered to pick it up half the time. Sometimes walking through their bedroom was like playing hopscotch. Dean didn’t mind. 

He shuffled to the bathroom and splashed water on his face, rinsed his mouth quickly. Then he was down the stairs and pouring a cup of still-warm coffee from the pot into his favorite mug. It was the one Sam had given him with the kids’ tiny handprints on it, and he had given Sam endless shit for making it. But he used it every day. Sam knew that Dean treasured anything of his niece and nephew’s, so he took the teasing in stride. 

He added milk and creamer (and dammit, he didn’t  _ used _ to do that, but Cas’s penchant for sweet drinks had rubbed off on him), and wandered onto the back porch. 

Cas was waiting for him, as always. 

His back was turned toward the door. Facing outward toward the tall pines that framed their backyard, Dean could tell from his angle that Cas’s eyes were closed, fingers curled around his own steaming mug as he took in the freshness of the air along with the hint of chill still lingering. He was dressed in pajama bottoms and an old, much too large Stanford sweatshirt Sam had gifted him back when he didn’t have many clothes of his own. His hair was still mussed from sleep. 

Dean admired. Still, even with these years between them and the past, he stopped to take it in. To be thankful. From the moment the world had been restored, he’d wanted nothing more than this, right here. To wake up to Castiel on a beautiful morning with no monsters or demons threatening to end their hard fought happiness. Jack, it seemed, knew his thoughts before he did. Dean had opened his mouth as Jack turned to go down the road toward God-dom and who knows what else, but the boy had just glanced back and smiled. 

“He’s at the bunker,” Jack had said. “They both are. Go to them.”

Sam and Dean had sped away as fast as Baby would take them. 

And now here they were. Sometimes, Dean still couldn’t quite believe it. 

A small breeze ruffled through Cas’s hair. His eyes cracked open. “Good morning, Dean.” 

“Hey, sweetheart.” Dean left his cup balanced on the railing and wrapped his arms around Cas from behind, pulling him close. He kissed the soft spot behind Cas’s ear, and they stood quietly for a few moments, admiring the early light still filtering through the trees. 

“Aren’t you cold?” Cas asked him after a moment. 

Dean shrugged. “A little. Nothing we can’t fix together, right?” He smirked, playfully pulling up the hood of Cas’s sweatshirt. He heard Cas laugh softly as he rested his chin back against the other man’s shoulder. 

Dean was not a morning person, but he did this every Sunday morning, without fail. Most days, he slept until noon before finally getting up to join his partner for a few hours, then heading into town to open the bar they owned together, The Crossroads. 

(Sam had hated the name. Dean thought it was funny. So did Cas.)

He would clean up the place and get it ready for the evening, working quietly (or, sometimes, loudly) to the constant drone of classic rock from his radio. Cas would wander in and help him on many days, while other times he chose to do his own thing, wandering their town or getting into any number of new hobbies that fascinated him. Dean was surprised he wasn’t beekeeping in the backyard yet. As ridiculous as that would be, he could never find it in him to begrudge Cas a single thing. Not when he had spent so long taking and taking but never giving back. 

Most of his nights were spent behind the bar, serving local regulars and any hunters who passed through. Though the brothers were retired, every hunter knew where to find the legendary Winchester brothers and some good drinks. They passed through with their friendships, and their thanks, and their stories. There was a rule at The Crossroads, though. You only talk about what’s dead and staying dead. No ongoing hunts on the premises. 

(Everyone knew, though, that if they truly needed help, they could come to the Winchesters. Still, no one ever did. It was a respect thing. The Winchesters had earned their retirement. They were left alone.)

The best nights were the ones when he and Cas bartended together and they got to trade banter and conversation and secret touches behind the counter. Sam would stop by some nights to catch up over a few beers. Old friends passed through too—Jodie and Claire, even Crowley and, once or twice, Jack stopped in to check up on his family. God himself having a drink at Dean’s bar. The thought never failed to make him laugh. 

On nights that Cas didn’t join him, Dean used to worry. The Empty hadn’t wanted a graceless angel, so Jack had made him human, and the entity had spit him straight back out. Problem was, then Dean worried about every little thing. Would Cas get sick? Would he get hurt? What was happening while Dean wasn’t there to watch over him? But Cas assured him that he had been human before and he could do it again. Only much better this time. 

Besides, when your son was God himself, how could you worry about death? They might have to spend a few years apart when the time came, but Jack assured them that everyone would be together in Heaven eventually. And the Winchesters knew exactly what their Heaven would be: this, plus a few more faces. 

Most nights, Dean closed up the bar and drove home in the early hours of the morning, falling into bed next to his partner. This would earn him a very sleepy kiss before Cas knocked out again. Most mornings, he awoke to the sound of Cas already moving around the house, well into his day. It was a domestic type of routine that would have made him cringe a few years ago, but now he doubted he would ever have enough of it. 

Cas had insisted on Sundays, though, and how very holy of him, Dean would tease. On Sundays, the bar was closed and yet Dean drug himself out of bed at an early morning hour to spend the day with Cas. Sometimes they made plans. They had a few adventures, such as hiking in a nearby national forest or attending concerts. Sometimes they simply stayed in each other’s orbit for hours, languishing on the couch for a Netflix marathon or going on a drive. 

Sundays were Dean’s favorite days. 

“Hey, Cas?” Dean asked. 

“Hmm?” the other man responded, taking a sip of his coffee.

“You’re happy, right?” Dean watched his face from his vantage point at Cas’s shoulder. “After everything? There’s nothing else you would rather be doing?”

Cas smiled and sat down his coffee, turning in Dean’s arms so that they were face to face. “Every week you ask me this, and every week my answer is the same.” His hand came to rest against Dean’s cheek. Inside, Dean could hear Miracle barking. “There is not a single place I’d rather be.”

Dean smiled. “I love you,” he said, because he said it every day, would say it every  _ hour _ , if that’s what it took to remind Cas how wanted and needed and loved he really was. 

“And I love you, too,” Cas said. “Now,” he took Dean's hand and tugged him playfully back toward the door. “Let’s see if we can get you warmed up.”

Dean followed with pleasure.

***

He did get warmed up and then some, and they fell asleep again without meaning to. Dean awoke to the sound of his front door breaking inward. 

He was up and alert in an instant, all those years of instinct coming back to him. 

Cas rose silently behind him, and they both grabbed the weapons they kept in the nightstand—a pistol and an old angel blade.

Dean breathed deeply as they crept out the bedroom door, barely dressed. Was this it? Was it only going to be those few good years before  _ something _ came to collect? 

Keeping Cas wedged behind him, much to the other man’s annoyance, Dean peered around the corner of the stairs and let out his breath in one loud, relieved, pissed sigh. He dropped the gun to his side. “Sam, what in the _hell_ are you doing?” 

Sam jumped, turning toward the sound of Dean’s voice. He bounded up the stairs, his own pistol falling back to his side. “Dean! What happened? Is everything okay?”

Sam’s sudden, harsh grip on his shoulders jarred him, and his hands came up to gently push his brother away. “Okay? Yeah, Sammy, we’re fine. What are you talking about?” He glanced at Cas, but the other man looked just as confused. 

Sam blinked. He looked between the two of them and their almost identical faces of confusion and concern. His shoulders dropped and he shook his head. 

“We had plans,” he said, voice small. He didn’t meet their eyes. “And then you didn’t answer the door. Didn’t answer your phones. I thought …”

Dean realized, then. He carefully slipped the gun from Sam’s hand and took his own, along with the angel blade, back into the bedroom. When he returned, he put steadying hands on his brother’s shoulders. “Hey, it’s okay, Sammy. We’ve all been there.”

Cas hummed in agreement beside him, but otherwise kept silent, watching the brothers closely. 

“I thought … maybe something came back. Chuck or Lucifer or anything, really. To go after you guys, and then me.” His breath was shaky. “And Eileen and the kids. So…”

Dean smirked. “So you thought you’d kick my door down and come in guns blazing?”

Sam turned red. “I’ll pay to fix it,” he mumbled. “It’s just…”

“Just what?” Dean prompted. 

“Just that everything came rushing back,” Sam sighed. He finally met Dean’s eyes, and Dean could see the pain and embarrassment he was trying so hard to hide. “It barely happens anymore, but sometimes something, anything happens in just the right way and it's like we never got out. Like there’s still something waiting for us in the dark.” 

Cas materialized at Sam’s side, holding a drink. Sam took it gratefully. “I’m really sorry about the door,” he finished. 

Dean shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I get it, man. There are still times where I’m sure this is all an illusion and I’m just waiting for it to fall apart. But this—” he nodded toward Cas, their home. “The bar, the two of us, Eileen and Bobby and Charlotte, it’s real. We’re done. We’re safe.”

Sam gazed at him for a few seconds, and then finally, he smiled. “Yeah.” He laughed a little, shook the last of the past out of his mind. “I know that. Thanks for reminding me.”

“Anytime.” Dean pulled him into a quick, rough hug. “Now, Eileen and the kids still here?”

Sam nodded. “In the car.”

“Cool. Bring ‘em in, we’re still having lunch. And fixing a door.”

***

Later, sitting on the porch (dressed properly this time), sandwiches and chips spread out on little plastic tables between them, it was like it had never happened. Dean still caught Eileen giving Sam a few appraising glances, but his brother took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. He was alright. They were alright. 

To his left, Cas sat with Charlotte in his lap. At two years old, she was already as precocious as Sam had been at that age, speaking and reading above her age level. Her and Cas had a special bond, and Dean smiled to see the familiar sight: Cas leveling his serious gaze at Charlotte, nodding in concentration as the toddler babbled something that might not have made sense to anyone else, but to Cas, it seemed to be gospel. The girl pulled a picture book out of her mother’s bag and placed it against Cas’s chest expectantly. He immediately opened it and began to read quietly. 

Bobby, the baby, was swaddled on his mother’s lap, sleeping peacefully. Sam had asked a few times if Dean and Cas were thinking of adopting kids, but Dean always shook his head. He didn’t think full-time parenting was in the cards for them, not with how they both liked their independence, nor with the late hours at the bar. Besides, they were more than happy being the cool uncles. 

Eileen caught his eye. “ _ He’s not faking it, is he?” _ she signed, nodding toward Sam, who had taken the baby and was busy making sure he was wrapped tight in his blankets. 

“ _ No, _ ” he signed back. “ _ You would know if he was. Sam’s shit at hiding his feelings.” _

It had taken him many hours of instruction with Cas to learn proper sign language, and he was nowhere near fluent. But the look in both Sam and Eileen’s eyes when he surprised them both, finally able to have a conversation without someone translating, made the difficulties worth it. Sam had hugged him extra long that night. 

The light began to fade and Sam and Eileen collected the kids to head home, promising to have them over for dinner in a few weeks. Sam would probably stop by the bar for a drink sometime before then, always keen to catch up despite the fact that nothing of note really happened anymore. Somehow, that made it all the more enjoyable.

As the door (which they had somehow managed to rig back together) clicked shut behind them, Cas took Dean’s hand. 

“Do you think Sam is doing okay?” he asked. 

Dean turned to him. “I think so. Are you not sure?”

Cas shrugged. “I believe it was only a momentary lapse. But you know him better than I do.”

He brought Cas’s hand between his, absentmindedly rubbing circles into his palm. “We all have our moments. Can’t not have them with the lives we’ve led. But Sam’s okay. He has us and Eileen and the kids to keep him straight.” Dean smiled and kissed Cas’s hand. “Just like I have you, and you have me.”

“I don’t think there’s anything straight about you and I, Dean.”

Dean groaned. “Hilarious. Will you ever get tired of that one?”

“Not anytime soon, no.”

“Great. Perfect.” Cas’s smile was like the sun shining just for him. He pulled Cas in for a kiss, and then turned toward the living room, tugging him along. “Come on, time to catch up on trash TV.”

They settled on the couch together, Cas’s head resting against Dean’s chest while Miracle napped at their feet. The drone of the TV lulled them to sleep and into the rest of their long, long lives. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This was not my best quality writing, but I wanted to get it out there instead of letting in languish in the editing phase. I went for straight fluff and happiness, cause we deserve it.  
> I looked up a couple scenes of Eileen, and from what I understand, she can read lips very well (?). But I chose to make her main form of communication ASL and to have ASL written it quotations and itallics. If this was a bad choice in any way, let me know and I can edit it properly.  
> One last thing: I'm toying with the idea of a series rewrite (as many are) that only spans around 3-5 seasons worth of story and much less nonsense. Castiel appears early and so does Eileen, and they get a lot of character and relationship development that sticks. This one-shot would be my endgame for that story. Let me know if you have any thoughts!


End file.
